Page 67 of Biggest Player
I walk all the way into the lobby, my confusion growing.
Where is Dex?
Am I the first one here?
I half expected him to be waiting near the entrance—or maybe in the parking lot—but there is no sign of him.
I dig my cell out of my cross-body bag, checking our message exchange once again to make sure I hadn’t gotten the time wrong.
Huh.
I’m on time, if not a few minutes late.
A flicker of doubt hits me.Did Dex change his mind?
Determined not to let my nervousness show, I approach the reception desk, where two cheerful young women greet me. “Welcome to Glam Golf USA! Do you have a reservation?”
“Hi.” I sound more confident than I am. “I’m supposed to meet someone here. His name is Dex? He might have reserved a booth or whatever?”
So. Confident.
She taps at her keyboard, then looks up at me with a reassuring nod. “Yes, I see a reservation for a Dex—looks like he checked in. Simulator 202, up on the second floor, second spot on the left.”
“Thanks.”
I’m breathing heavy by the time I make it up two flights of stairs, and to my relief I find Dex already practicing his swing as if he weren’t expecting company.
He raises his head as I approach, broad smile spreading across his handsome face. “Hey! You made it!”
“I made it.” I grin at him, waving my arms so he can see I’m in one piece. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Then he does something that shocks the hell out of me. He bends down and envelops me in a hug. Squeezes. Smells the top of my hair, even.
Is he drunk?
I didn’t realize he was a hugger.
“I was starting to think you might have changed your mind.”
Me, change my mind? I was worried he was going to change his!
“Not a chance. I don’t have Wyatt this weekend, so I didn’t have a lot going on.” I laugh, hoping that doesn’t sound like an insult. “Though I was worried I might have walked into the wrong place for a second there.”
“Nope, you’re exactly where you need to be.” He pauses. “And don’t you look adorable. Ready to show off your skills?”
Skills? Hardly. “I’m more likely to show off my ability to make a fool of myself.”
But that’s not what happens.
Turns out, I’m shockingly good at hitting targets on a turf golf course, especially after I’ve consumed an entire Twisted Lemonade.
I wiggle my ass during my turn, glancing over my shoulder to see if he’s actually watching my ass, disappointed when he smiles, eyes nowhere near my bum.
Darn.
I may not be trying to reel him in, but it never hurts to be consensually ogled.
Squeezing one eye shut, I survey the landscape down in front of me, then check the monitor to make sure I’m aiming at the spot giving me the highest number of points. Because this is a game, and so far I’m kind of kicking his ass.
